Come, My Hat

Come my hat;
We shall dance;
And sing the praises
Of erroneous phrases

She has dreams in her hair
As the saying goes.
Let us render this black
In remembering sleep.

Paraphrase and paradox
Are screaming in my ears.
How long has it been?
He says, “Please come again.”

Sickness is sticky
And I smell it.
It comes in darkness
And lingers in the cold, gray air.

It is no normal sickness.
Either I kill him or he kills me,
But winter never truly dies.
So I will ignore him and drink my coffee.

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